


Rules

by TrulyCertain



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 01:12:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4857572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrulyCertain/pseuds/TrulyCertain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are certain things she won't let herself think about her commanding officer. Warden Bethany, Alistair and a cabin in a snowstorm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rules

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buttercup23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercup23/gifts).



They’re hiking through the Frostback Mountains when the storm sets in. It’s a proper Fereldan storm, the sort Bethany nearly let herself forget about while she was living in Kirkwall – the kind most would call a blizzard. The Wardens squint against the snow, doing their best to keep moving.

There’s a worrying _thud._ One of them must have fallen. Bethany sees ginger hair, someone crouching in the snow, and she knows. Alistair. He was injured about an hour ago – a genlock caught him in the thigh with a dagger –and she did some stopgap healing, but it obviously hasn’t been enough.

There are some commanders who’d refuse to accept any shows of concern, not wanting to appear weak. Stroud was like that; Alistair isn’t.

She rushes forward, unable to help herself. “Alistair?”

He looks up and gives her a smile. It’s a little shaky for her peace of mind. “Bethany. Missing me already?”

It makes her lips twitch, even though she doesn’t want it to, and she shakes her head, sighing. “Let’s take a look at that.”

“It’s…” He looks at the rest of the Wardens, who’ve stopped, watching them. They’re probably waiting for orders from their commanding officer, but he’s a little busy at the moment. “I doubt there’s time.” He looks past her. “Look, all of you should keep moving. Orzammar’s in three miles, you’ll be fine.”

She frowns. She’s still crouching next to him, and she knows she should move with the rest of them, but she _can’t._ “What about you?”

He nods towards something. She follows the movement, and on a nearby hill, she sees something. A small wooden structure: a hut, or a cabin. He says, “I noticed it on the way here.” He looks down at his leg; blood’s rapidly beginning to soak through his underarmour, and she notices red smears across the leather and metal. “Not that I decided to put on a show to steal some poor sod’s cabin.” His gaze returns to her. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

“What, you’re just going to limp to – “

“I’ll patch this up. I’ve had worse. A few years ago in the Brecilian Forest, there was a bear… I still made it back to camp.”

She stares at him, unable to believe what she’s hearing. She’s had far too many people she cares about die lately. She can’t let him risk this. Not that she can tell him that – it might raise too many questions about why her commanding officer is on that list. “I’m not leaving you to bleed to death in some… some cabin!” she insists.

He shrugs, giving her that blithe, hopelessly charming grin that makes her heart flip in her chest, even if she can never admit that. It’s a little too resigned. “It’s better than bleeding to death in the middle of a storm, isn’t it?” He sighs. “In a while the snow will block the roads, and the cold will get you if you don’t keep moving. Even if Wardens run hot, we aren’t invincible.” The beginnings of that grin again. “Believe me, I’ve tested that enough times.”

She remembers long evenings with Anders, trying to help him in the clinic. She knows what he’d say about this. “A poultice won’t be enough. And Maker, you survived a Blight. You can’t die because of some… some snow.”

“Oh, I know. It’s hardly the way a Warden’s meant to go.”

“You need a healer. I’m staying with you.”

“Bethany…”

“Alistair. Just… don’t argue. Please.”

He looks at her for several seconds, as if he’s assessing her. There’s something in his eyes she’s rarely seen before, and they’re almost unreadable. Another moment passes, and all she can hear is the clanking steps of the retreating Wardens, the wind howling through the mountains. Then he says, the words more of a reluctant exhale, “Come on then.”

She offers him her hand. He takes it, getting carefully to his feet, and then she gives him her shoulder. They begin to make their slow, slightly unsteady way up the hill, towards the cabin. He’s heavy, and it isn’t just the armour. He’s used to carrying armour and shields, and it’s easy to tell; he’s all muscle, deceptively strong under the plate. It surprises her sometimes. There are days when she’s seen him heft struggling recruits’ packs along with his own like it was nothing, and she’s seen him in a fight. She doesn’t let herself consider things like that for too long. There are certain things it isn’t wise to think about your commanding officer. Even if you really, really want to.

“What if we’re chased off?” she asks.

“It looks deserted.”

“Or we can’t get in?”

“You’re a mage, and I have a heavy shield. We’ll find a way.”

Unable to argue with that, she helps him limp a little further.

Now she thinks about it… “Maybe I shouldn’t have come with you,” she admits. When he looks at her, she says quietly, “I think I’m a curse. Anyone I try and help… anyone I know… they don’t live long.”

He raises his eyebrows, considering that. “You know, I used to think the same about myself.” He looks at his feet. “I had a friend. He was… he was a good man. I doubt I’ve found better. And he died to save me.” That grim smile appears on his face again. “I really wish he hadn’t told me he was going to do that. I should have believed him. Sometimes I think the guilt will kill me before the Taint does.”

“How did - ?” She knows the question’s unfair, and she regrets letting it slip. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head. She’s surprised he’s keeping up with the conversation; his teeth are gritted with his pain. “Archdemon.” He sees her surprise and says, “I know. It’s an interesting one to bring out at dinner parties.”

It still takes her aback now and again – the sarcasm, the gentle irreverence, the jokes about death and darkspawn. She’s spent too much time with the Orlesian Wardens, she supposes. She’s used to grim, slightly scary men who pull out words like “duty” and “sacrifice” before you can blink. Instead, she came here and found someone… almost normal, for a Warden. Someone younger than she expected. Someone human, someone she could like. His quips remind her a bit of the things her sister used to come out with, except she should hope she never felt like this about her sister. She’s spent far too much time staring at the span of his shoulders, admiring his smile and his wit and his hands, for her own good. She prays he hasn’t noticed. She’s heard the Fereldan Wardens are far more relaxed about things like fraternisation, but there’s inappropriate and then there’s… this. And he won’t feel the same, surely. What if it makes him angry, or worse, makes him pity her? It doesn’t bear thinking about.

So she doesn’t think about it. Of course not. She just treks up this hill that’s starting to feel like a mountain, ignoring his strength and his quiet, breathless laughter at his own joke. It’s low, deep, and it sends a shiver down her spine that isn’t unpleasant. It’s far too pleasant, actually. Damn it, she’s starting to sound like Isabela.

They keep moving. She thinks she sees him look at her a few times, that questioning assessment in his eyes again, but when she looks, he’s frowning at the mountains or concentrating on his leg.

They reach the cabin. As they hoped, it’s deserted – they look through the windows and see nothing, and there are no noises that would suggest habitation. He gently gives her her shoulder back, then limps over to the door. He gives it a push, but it doesn’t budge. “Right,” he mutters, “this is going to hurt.”

She moves forward a step, her mouth opening, but before she can say anything he’s ramming the door with his shoulder. It works, the door flying open. He lets out a quiet groan, rubbing his shoulder, and then smiles apologetically at her. “Against your advisement as a healer, I’m guessing?”

She nods, wordless. She shakes herself, recovering, and follows him inside. “We’d better sort out that door, or we’ll freeze.”

“You’re right.” He gently props it back on its frame, then hobbles over to the bed, sitting on it heavily.

She looks out of the window, trying to distract herself from the fact that she’s alone with Alistair and a bed. It isn’t that the thought hasn’t occurred to her, it’s just that this is _not_ a good time to indulge in it. Maker, she’s definitely spent too long around Isabela. And after all, this does feel like the setting for one of  Isabela’s stories… that she hasn’t read. At all. Right. “The storm’s got heavier. We might get snowed in.”

He shrugs. “It could be worse. We both have good rations, and the company’s nice enough.”

She feels heat rush to her cheeks, and looks back to the window until her blush fades. Then she walks to the fireplace, calling flames to her fingers and lighting it with a thought.

He lets out a quiet whistle. “That never fails to impress me, even after all this time.”

“I’m sure you’ve spent enough time with mages.”

“Less with you, though.” He looks away from her, his smile fading. A little colour comes into his cheeks, too, as though he’s just realized what he’s said. “Anyway, if worst comes to worst, I’m sure they’ll come back and dig us out soon enough. It’s not exactly hard to work out where we are.”

She tries not to think about it. Her “not for thinking about” list has become far too long recently. “Can I have a look at your leg? We’ve got a little more time. I might be able to heal it properly.”

He swallows. “I… Sure.”

It’s a fairly low wound, thank the Maker, close to his knee. It still ends with both of them working to take off his armour and then his breeches. That part’s tricky – they’re practically stuck to him with blood. She knows the blade hasn’t hit a major artery or things would be a lot worse, but it’s still unpleasant.

He inhales sharply when she touches his leg. “Sorry.”

She shakes her head. “This won’t be much fun for either of us. Just try to relax.”

She hears him grind his teeth, and he looks at the ceiling. “Easier said than done.”

She ignores that, even though she’s close to thinking the same thing. It’s fairly easy to stay clinical when she’s looking at a gory wound, even if her worry tugs at her chest. She heals it reasonably quickly, remembering the principles Father and then Anders taught her, and before long it’s little more than a scar. It’s a jagged, nasty one, but she’s seen far worse. She runs her hand over it gently, quickly growing embarrassed at how much that seemed like a caress, and looks at him. He’s watching her, that unfamiliar darkness in his eyes again. She finds herself looking back, unable to stop. He opens his mouth as if to say something…

He clears his throat. “I should…” He gestures to himself. When she moves away, he gets to his feet, sorting out his breeches.  He winces. “Ow.” He looks into the fire. “Thank you for staying with me. I know you didn’t have to.”

With a shake of her head, she replies, “You were kind to me. You didn’t have to do that, and I know you must have heard about how I came here…”

He turns abruptly to frown at her. “You think I did it out of _pity_?”

“Well… yes?”

It’s his turn to shake his head, and it’s vehement. He takes a step towards her, another. “At first it was that you seemed… well, nice. We don’t get much of that in the Wardens. Can’t think why.” Another of his rough little laughs that make her shiver. “And then it was…” He trails off, his gaze falling to the floor.

“It was…?”

“I’m not blind. Or stupid, much as you might hear otherwise.” He looks up, and there’s that new thing in his eyes again. She’s unsure whether to back away or to step closer. Much closer. “I have noticed how you look at me.”

She feels herself turn red. “Oh. I’m sorry…”

“Did you think it was just you?”

“Oh.” It’s barely more than a breath. She stares stupidly at him, unable to find her words.

He’s so close to her that she can feel his breath on her face. Close enough to…

Something makes her reach up and kiss him. He pulls her closer, gentle but firm, certain, and it opens the floodgates inside her for something she didn’t know existed. She deepens the kiss, pressing herself against him, and his hands tighten on her waist.

When they break apart, he beams at her and says slightly breathlessly, “I do quite like you. Too much, really.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Her cheeks ache with her own smile. Something dawns on her. “Are there rules against this?”

He cocks his head, thinking. “Probably.” Then he pulls her back to him.

They kiss for a long time. There’s even some tongue. Isabela would be proud. It’s likely Marian would be too, embarrassing as that thought is.

When they’re trying to get their breath back, he remarks, “I told you it could be worse, being stuck in this cabin.”

And then she’s laughing, not quite sure what it was about that that set her off, and wondering why in the Maker’s name she didn’t do this earlier.

He’s right. The Wardens do come back to dig them out the next day, and they find the two of them curled round each other in a way that’s likely very against regulations. Oddly, none of them complain.

**Author's Note:**

> A giveaway prize for the marvellous [buttercup23](http://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercup23/pseuds/buttercup23).
> 
> Originally posted over at [my Tumblr](http://trulycertain.tumblr.com). Come and say hello. There might be biscuits.There will certainly be fic.


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